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They were up to something.  And it had to do with Aurora, the fiancée.  They didn’t like her, the prince had said.  And when the girls didn’t like someone – nanny or fiancée – Sabrina had a feeling they’d better watch out.
    A few minutes later Sabrina found herself seated next to the prince at the large oval table with the girls at her side.  She didn’t know much about protocol, but wasn’t it strange for the hired help to be seated with the host?
    “I thought it best to keep you and the girls close at hand,” he explained.
    “Why, are you afraid we’ll misbehave?” Sabrina asked, feeling more confident and alert after her nap.
    “I don’t know about you,” Vittorio said, raising his eyebrows and slanting a glance at bodice of her dress.  She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.  The fabric was stretched tight across her breasts.  Was that why he was staring?  What was it about the dress?  “But I know the girls are capable of all kinds of tricks.  Take your dress, for example.  Whose idea was it for you to wear it?”
    “Er….”
    “I thought so.”
    Just then the gentleman on Vittorio’s right asked Sabrina where she was from and they had a short discussion about the charms of San Francisco while Vittorio turned to the woman on his other side and engaged her in conversation.
    Between courses, the prince turned to Sabrina and said he’d never been to San Francisco.
    “You’ll have to visit and bring the girls.  I’m sure they’d like riding on the cable cars and visiting Alcatraz Prison.”
    “One of their former nannies suggested a prison was where they belonged,” he said wryly.
    “That sounds a bit extreme,” Sabrina said, unfolding her linen napkin.
    “You don’t know them,” he said.  “I’ll ask you again at the end of the week.”
    The week?  Hadn’t he said she could stay the summer?  What made him think she wouldn’t last any longer?
    She lifted her glass to her lips.  “The wine is delicious.”
    “It’s a local vintage.  I like to showcase our home-grown products to these big city people.  Like the main course.”
    The risotto, creamy and rich with butter, cream and cheese, came on a small plate.  Next a waiter served a grilled lake fish called lavarello .  On the side was a few spears of delicate white asparagus that came from their garden.  More courses, each one irresistible, followed until Sabrina wondered how Italians stayed so slim.
    “Do you eat like this every night?” she asked him, catching her breath between courses.  Whatever she thought of him and his attempts to raise the girls, he had a profile that rivaled any in his portrait gallery and she decided he was by far the most attractive man at the table.  No wonder she was tempted to steal occasional glances in his direction.  When he met her gaze, she instantly looked away.  Why wasn’t his fiancée here to play the hostess role?
    “The girls eat in the kitchen with the cook since Nanny Chisholm left,” was Vittorio’s answer to her question.  Sabrina glanced at the twins who’d told her that they always dressed for dinner.  They were whispering to each other in Italian.
    “And I have something light when I come home,” Vittorio continued.  “After I’m married…”
    He didn’t finish his sentence.  Maybe he wasn’t sure how meals would be conducted after his marriage, so Sabrina said, “I don’t believe I’ve met your fiancée.”
    “No, you haven’t,” he said brusquely.
    Sabrina dropped the subject.  The dinner seemed to go on and on, course after course, a salad of fennel and hearts of palm in a balsamic vinegar dressing followed by a veal scaloppini with a sauce made of Chardonnay, capers and lemon.  There were fresh peaches for dessert soaked in red wine also made on the premises.
    “From our orchard,” the prince said, pointing to the peaches.
    “Delicious,” she said.
    He gave her a long intense look then turned abruptly and began a conversation